“With that said,” he continued, “Uncle Lloyd should be arriving any day now, and I think it would be wise of you to take a gander at the fine young men who will be in attendance at his dinner party.”
Not wanting to show my lack of interest in his suggestion, I promised to keep an open heart as we entered the door of WG Shipping.
The office wasn’t as nice as the one in London, but it was certainly busier. The work load had tripled since I had last gone over his paperwork, and his way of doing things had refined. Everyone who worked for him seemed happy, and everyone answered to him with respect.
While Father chattered on with a new client, I took a seat on the bench outside the front door and watched the world go by. As the first hour passed, I noticed the men hard at work on the docks smiling at me. A couple of them stared in ways that were almost rude, but one handsome young sailor stopped to talk with me.
“Well, hello there, lovely.” He held his hat over his heart. “What’s your name?”
“Remington.” I smiled, enjoying the way he was looking at me.
His blond hair was sloppy, his brown eyes were warm, and the look of his lean, hard body had me imagining the wonders he could work with it.
“Oh, Remington! Are you Mister Wilshire’s daughter?” He suddenly looked regretful.
“Yes, I am,” I boasted. “What’s your name?”
“The name’s Sweeny, Brennan Sweeny. I was going to ask if I could take you for a walk, but looks like I’ll have to ask your father, first.”
Though flattered by his interest in me, I was too attached to Jackson Hawke to even think about spending time with another man. With the memories of our secret romance flashing through my mind, I simply said no thank you to Brennan Sweeny.
With a bright, cocky grin on my face, I wandered back into Father’s office and took a seat at his empty desk. He was in the warehouse going over the shipments, so with my time alone I began dreaming of my lover, Jackson. The memories we made in that hot, dirty workshop burned in my mind like his fire that melted metals. Bare skin molding together with sweat and desire. Hot hands singeing my soul to its core. Moaning and sighing and screaming in pleasure, these moments were magic, unearthly, and divine. Damn it! I could never get enough of him. I had only been gone a day, but I couldn’t wait to get back over there.
With passion consuming my mind like a wildfire, I took out the knife he’d given me. I had seen few knives in my day, and held even fewer, yet it was plain to see that his work was superb. Eyeing the piece with a love-struck grin, I ran my finger over the flat side of the blade and thought about the way he so carefully engraved each piece…And then Father walked in. Inhaling in terror, I tried to hide the blade, but it was too late.
What is that?” he asked with a look of concern.
“Nothing. Oh, it’s nothing.” I stuttered like a guilty idiot.
“Give it to me.” He took the knife from my hand. “This is Black Hawke’s brand. Where did you get this?”
“I…found it,” I lied.
“Then why do you look so guilty?”
“I’m not, I just…” I lowered my head.
“Did you steal it?”
Reliving the visual of me on my knees, weakening Jackson on his, I blasted, “Yes. Yes, I stole it.” The punishment for robbery had to be much lighter than what I would receive for the acts of harlotry I’d been engaging in.
“From whom?” he roared. “Where were you and what the hell were you doing?”
He had never yelled at me like this before.
Trembling in regret, I somehow found enough sense to clean up my lie. “On the way to the market with Mother and Franklin, I saw it lying in the alley. I know it wasn’t mine, and I shouldn’t have touched it. I am so sorry.”
Lowering his face into his hand, he grumbled about the damned pirate stories my mother used to tell me, and then he took a long deep breath. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally looked at me and ordered, “Get up. We’re going to take it back to Mister Hawke. Maybe he will know who it belongs to.”
Terrified by the thought of entering my secret lover’s den by my father’s side, I hesitated to rise, but the look on his face assured me that there was no use in disputing him.
It wasn’t even noon yet and my day was ruined. My life was ruined. Walking behind my father with my head lowered in shame, my mind spiraled with all the worrisome possibilities. How would Jackson react? Would he play along with my lie? What if somehow Father found out what we’d been up to? A million mortifying scenarios flashed through my mind, but not a one of them was as dreadful as what I saw when we walked through the door.
There, in the well-lit room where our love was made, Jackson Hawke was talking to another woman. She was smaller than me, but almost as old as him. Her face was pretty, her body was slim, and her dress was nicer than anything I owned. Though she tried to stand in a way that would hide it, I plenty well saw his sooty hand print on her backside.
Sickened to the core, I tried my best to stand steady as my father greeted the two-faced blacksmith. “Hello there, Mister Hawke.”
Jackson stuck his hand out. “Mister Wilshire. I have seen you plenty at the harbor, and heard a lot of good about you, but it’s nice to finally meet the man running our trade industry.”
Father shook his hand. “I have also heard plenty about you and your good work. In fact, that’s why I am here today.” He pulled out the dagger. The way Jackson was ignoring me and the eye contact I was attempting to make made me want to grab the knife and stab him with it. “My daughter and I found this on our way home. I figured you might know who it belongs to.”
My fiery hatred for the treasonous Jackson Hawke was momentarily cooled by the love I felt for my father. He lied to protect me. He was the best man in the world, and feeling like a shameful slut at the moment, I figured I didn’t even deserve his love.
“I know exactly who this belongs to.” Jackson wiped the blade with his rag. “Thank you so much for returning it.”
“So, who’s the lovely lady?” Father looked at the smug little bitch I wanted to strangle.
“Oh, this here,” Jackson pulled her beside him, “this is Catrina, my wife.”
Wife? Sink me! Feeling like every one of his handmade blades had been stabbed into my back, I struggled to keep solid on my feet as Father introduced me to his new friends. “This is Remington, my lovely young daughter who will one day make a fine wife herself.”
My life had been reduced to rubble by the scoundrel, and having to maintain my sense as Jackson showed my father his current projects was the hardest thing I ever had to do.
After showing off the axe he had made for Hank Williams, Jackson flipped a beautiful sword around ever so gracefully. “This one is for the revered buccaneer captain, Mason Bentley. He’s going to give it to his boy, Sterling. Guess he faced his first sword fight during their last sail. He was protecting some Spanish ladies and conquered his opponent like a warrior. Mason wanted to give him a new blade, and I can’t tell you how honored I am to be the one making it for him.”
Though Father had little interest in the Bentley boys, to be polite, he chuckled, “I reckon someone could write a mighty entertaining book about those two.”
Tossing the sword in the air, and catching it by the hilt ever so swiftly, Jackson smiled. “And hopefully the author will mention my blades in that book.”
Walking home under Father’s arm—feeling like the biggest fool who ever lived—the only thing that kept me from crying were the hateful visions of vengeance flashing through my mind.
Chapter 9
The Captain’s Wife
The week passed like months while baring the silent pain of my heartache. Staring out the window at the storm-beaten harbor, I cursed the stupid raindrops for reminding me of Jackson. I couldn’t say I loved him, but I certainly had strong feelings for him, and the things I shared with him were special to me. But apparently I was just his slut. Ugh! More than hurt, I was angered. I w
as not a senseless fool, but he used me like one. I was not an insecure nitwit, but he thought he could fool me like one. I had pride, and like Mother said, I was a fighter, so I would not let him crush me, but I did hate the way he got the better of me.
Pacing the floor, grumbling to myself, wavering between pride and pain, I realized why Mother kept that bird to talk to. For the first time in my life I understood her insanity, and that terrified me. Refusing to fall into the pits of despair that she wallowed in, I decided to resume my afternoon adventures. Stealthily as always, I escaped out of my window, but rather than heading to that godforsaken hell pit called Black Hawke Forge, I made my way to town.
The rain had stopped as quickly as it had started, and swamping heat once again moistened the air. It was always cooler by the bay without the stone walls blocking the sea breeze, and that was nice, but the gruesome crowd quickly reminded me why I shouldn’t be doing this. Due to my heartache I quickly lost interest in the endeavor. But to go back meant to succumb to my pain, and that was simply not an option.
Remembering Father’s mention of Mason and Sterling staying at The Captain’s Wife, I went to find it. Not far down the harbor view walk, between The High Horse Inn and Betsy’s Brothel, sat The Captain’s Wife. In contrast to the solid wooden walls that were freshly painted, and the clean glass windows that were all lined with lacy curtains, the name of the well cared for establishment was burned into a rotten wood plank. Intrigued as could be, I quickly slipped in the door and took a seat at a table in the back.
The place was dank and musty, reeking of spilled liquor and body odor, but the decor was all well-kept and the furnishings looked rather expensive. Most of the chairs were wooden, but there were a few booths with high-rise backs upholstered with extravagant red and gold fabrics. Each of those booths had low lying chandeliers, and the rest of the room shared the lighting from one massive chandelier hanging from the roof of the second floor.
The curved stairway—boasting an ornate wrought iron banister—was highly trafficked with drunken men and well-dressed, good looking whores. The Captain’s Wife was not just a tavern, but also a brothel house. This was going to be interesting.
Though I had hoped that no one would bother me at my lone table in the dark corner, I was quickly approached by a barmaid. Wearing black boots, striped skirts that fit her curvy hips well, and the same display of weapons most buccaneers wore, she rested her elbows on my table in a way that made her breasts bulge out of her deep green corset. “What can I get for you, beautiful?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t need anything,” I stuttered, feeling intimidated by her confidence.
As she sat up, her large and colorfully feathered tricorn hat bumped into the wall of the booth behind her. She yanked it off, letting loose her wild brunette locks. “Damn this cursed thing. It hits everything, causing me more trouble than it is worth.”
I giggled at her dramatics. “It is pretty, though. I love those feathers.”
“Thank you, amore, but I am certain the whole thing will look better as a decoration on my back counter.” She smiled. “What is your name?”
“Remington.”
“I like that name.”
“I like how you say it with your accent. Where are you from?”
“I am from Argentina.” She deepened her accent for show. “In fact, I just returned from a visit there.”
After asking her one hundred questions about her homeland, which she happily answered, I asked, “How did you end up living here?”
Looking around the busy tavern, she said, “I do not have time to share that tale. But, tell me, Remington, if you did not come here to drink, then what in the world are you doing here?”
“Honestly, I was tired of being trapped in the house so I just came to watch the people.”
She lifted my chin. “You are very young. What does your mother think of you watching people at the tavern?”
“She doesn’t care what I do,” I half lied.
“All right.” She easily let my story pass. “Well, my name is Torrence, better known by this mangy lot as Notorious Torrence. My son, Nathaniel, owns this place, but I run it, so if you ever feel like getting away from your careless mother, you’ll be safe here.” She slapped the pistol stashed in her turquoise sash, and with a wink she walked away.
Well, that was easy. Day one of my new chapter in life and I already found another safe haven.
Sitting there alone, I watched the world go by. Cards were being played at the tables. Good smelling food was being eaten at the booths. Wenches gracefully swayed through the drunken crowd, carrying trays of drinks, and serving the patrons with welcoming grins.
I had never been in a tavern before, but I was certain this was one of the nicer of such places on the island, if not in all of the world.
The next time the heavy wooden door opened—letting a dusty ray of light fill the smoky air—I heard Torrence shout in that direction. “Mason!”
She strutted towards the door with a jolly grin on her pretty face. My heart pattered in my throat as I watched her wrap her arms around the neck of the fearsome Mason Bentley. With a tight hug, he picked her up and spun her around, nearly knocking over the bystanders as he did so. Rather than complaining, the offended fled to their seats. One man even rushed out of the door.
Once Mason set her down, she hooted, “Well, light my fire and call me a candle! It always brightens my day to see you, mate.”
Though Mason was dressed like a king—burgundy coat, well-fit golden waistcoat, shiny buckles on his baldrics and belts—and his smile was warm and welcoming, the men in his path cleared the way like he was a tyrant who would take their heads off if they didn’t.
Removing his feathered cavalier hat—showing off his beautiful brown locks that were once again tied back in a tight braid—he kissed Torrence on the cheek. “Likewise, my friend. My days are always better with you in them.”
Looking around to note that all the booths were full, she hummed, “Looks like I will need to make room for the king.”
She then sent her doorman to clear her best booth for him. As he ran off to do so, Sterling sauntered through the front door. Oh, I felt like I was watching a great show at a fancy theater where all my favorite characters had come to life!
Torrence greeted Sterling with a wild hug, as well. “You have grown so tall since last time I saw you.” She pinched his cheek. “And you are just as handsome as your father.”
Sterling patted his own cheek. “Better looking, I reckon. Smarter, too.”
He was absolutely as handsome as his father, but nowhere near as well-kept. As he removed his hat, I saw that his wild locks—lighter brown than Mason’s and streaked with vibrant shades of blond—were tied back in a sloppy tail. Though his broad shoulders held up a fancy blue coat, it was dirty and torn, and I don’t think he wore a shirt beneath it.
Looking back towards the lofty booth that was now cleared and cleaned, Torrence smiled. “Your table is ready, gentlemen.”
Thrilled to see that they would be taking their seats near where I sat, I perked up in my chair to eavesdrop like a nosy little ghoul.
On the way over, Torrence told Sterling, “Nathaniel was just asking about you.”
“Ah, was that slippery ol’ cur missing his finest rival?” Sterling laughed.
Taking his seat, Mason smirked. “Maybe he wants to slap you upside that fat head of yours, again.”
Sliding onto the bench across from his father, Sterling said, “Ah, what’s a little slap amongst friends? I haven’t made him mad enough to punch me yet, so I think we’re doing all right.”
“Yet.” Mason laughed as he opened the menu Torrence handed him.
Torrence patted Mason’s shoulder. “All right, you boys take your time and I’ll have my finest girls bathe and perfume for you.”
Mason winked at her. “You make me wonder why I ever sail away from this place.”
The moment Torrence walked away, a busty barmaid wandered over, serving a
pitcher of ale to the king and his son. Once she set the tray between them, I saw Sterling’s arm reach out to grab her by the waist. When she toppled onto his lap I heard her giggling with glee. Another quickly found her way onto Mason’s lap, but while she pinched at his cheeks and tickled his goatee, I lost interest in the scene.
Looking away, I let my eyes wander the barroom, but my mind replayed their entrance a few times over. Yes, I loved my father, and though my mother was insane, we were fairly close, but not close like those two. Mason and Sterling were friends. They shared their passion for the sea, they braved a world of adventure side by side, and here in port, it was plain to see that they even connected in their love for women. Gazing back towards their table, I saw another wench had squeezed in next to Mason, and another was bending over to whisper to Sterling. Aye, they were both quite admired by women.
Once their lunch was served, they shooed the sluts away, but not long into their meal, a man dressed as well as Mason approached them at their booth. His words were low and whispered, so I heard not what he said, but beneath his beard, his face looked rather angry.
“It isn’t anything against you, mate,” Sterling snipped. “But if you want to keep that fat head of yours, I reckon you should walk back out that door you staggered in.”
While Mason shook his head in irritation, the angry man smashed his fist on the table and yelled something about his woman.
Sterling said, “She didn’t act no different than an alley slut, so how was I supposed to know she was yours?”
Fuming through his ears, the man leapt right onto the table and attacked Sterling. Glass breaking and bottles flying, fists and feet mangled about as they fought fist to fist between the table and the booth benches. My heart beat wildly in my chest as the violent brawl continued, and though I thought that I should run for my life, I couldn’t leave without seeing the outcome.
The crowd gathered around to watch the show, and some of the angry man’s mates aimed to join in the attack, but Mason held them off by brandishing his sword. “This fight isn’t yours. Step back or your heads will be rolling out that door!”
Every Time It Rains (Uncharted Secrets, Book 3): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 7